Hilton and Clark
by EveningInHornersCorners
Summary: A series of connected one-shots, varying in genre and tense and set in consecutive years. All dates are approximate. Story Two: Events of today have an odd way of reflecting our lives tomorrow.
1. 1963 - Accidents Will Happen

Her first day at CONTROL as an agent—not a student—is the hardest. She barely knows her way around—they only came here once during training—and all the advice her professors gave her is becoming mixed up in her head.

_Stand straight. Look people in the eye. Remember you're Agent 99 now and you want to make a good impression. Let the bigwigs boss you around on your first day—they're testing you, and if you pass, they won't be so hard on you next time. Don't be nervous—it looks bad._

It's that last one that gets her. She's a newcomer, in an almost totally unfamiliar environment, and all they can do is tersely order her _not to be nervous_?

Apart from that, though, she's doing pretty well. Her neck aches from hardly moving from its perfectly straight position and she's begun taking mental notes on the eye colors of everyone she's come across.

As for the bigwigs, she's followed every single direction they've given her to the letter. It's mostly just running little errands and such—that's what they do with rookies for a mandatory period of at least two weeks—but, nonetheless, she's tried to prove herself competent. The agent she's been assigned to is a gentle, middle-aged woman, and looking into her eyes you can tell she's seen too much, that working for CONTROL has scarred her. Still, she has a smile for everyone, especially 99, and a beautiful, clear voice that seems to tenderly caress the words it emits, like a longing hand against fine mink.

###

It's when she's delivering a notice to someone or other about the shortage of properly trained dogs that she stumbles into his office. It's quite accidental, really; she's lost her balance, and reaches out to the wall for support; instead, she feels herself twist, and then she's in another room, somehow at the foot of a bookshelf behind a desk where a man is sitting, pen in hand. He looks up, shocked by the clatter, and swivels around to see her in a heap on his floor.

"Are you alright?" he asks tersely, standing up serenely and gallantly offering her his hand. She gratefully accepts it and pulls herself to her feet.

"Yes, sir. I'm fine." She raises her hand in a salute, as she was taught to do upon meeting her superiors, and she can't help but squeeze her eyes shut. The nerves are starting to build up; she doesn't remember the last time she was this shy or apprehensive.

_Don't be nervous—it looks bad._

His echoing voice jolts her back to reality.

"I see my new secret entrance worked. But I don't believe we've met, Agent…"

"99." she says mechanically. "I'm 99."

"Pleased to met you, 99. I'm Agent Q." He extends his hand and she shakes it.

"A pleasure, sir." She replies quietly, unable to force her eyes to meet his.

"You must be new." He remarks. "No one at CONTROL actually follows the saluting 'regulation.'"

"Oh, I'm sorry…" she says, swallowing and lowering her eyes until they're safely directed at her feet.

"Oh, no, don't apologize. It's fine, just unnecessary. Besides, it's not your fault. We really need to replace some of those idiot teachers at the local academy; their ideas are pretty outdated. Besides," he says in an undertone, "_that _was the academy and _those_ were the professors 86 graduated from…"

"Sir?" she asks quietly.

"Don't you know about 86? Well, you'll learn soon enough. Now what's this?" he inquires, pulling the paper out of her hands.

"A notice from Agent 66 to Agent 89 about the dearth in CONTROL dogs."

"Oh? Well, it would have made its way here somehow. Everything does. I'll save you the trip."

"Thank you?" she replies, quiet and hesitant.

"Look me in the eye, Agent."

"Do I have to?" Her voice is timid.

"Yes. You have to."

Reluctantly, she brings her head up, caution in its every move, and gazes into the limpid pools that he calls eyes.

Brown eyes.

"Stand straight. Look people in the eye. Remember, you're Agent 99 now, and you want to make a good impression. Don't be nervous—it looks bad. And remember, it's all part of letting the bigwigs boss you around on your first day. They're testing you, and if you pass they won't be so hard on you next time."

She looks at him curiously, wondering why on earth he's parroting her professors' words with such accuracy.

He answers her question without coaxing.

"Do remember that, 99. There's nothing here to get nervous over. We're all family at CONTROL, and every single one of them was once where you are now. Save your jitters for your missions. That's where you'll need them."

She feels her eyes begin to slide down again but pulls them back up, regaining their contact with the man. Something in her wonders if he's an angel, sent to comfort her in a time of need, but her common sense kicks in and she eschews the notion.

"Thank you sir. I'll take that under advisement." she answers carefully. His eyes crinkle as he smiles gently.

"Not to worry, 99. Based on that reply, you'll make a great agent yet. I hope we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"Likewise."

"Well," he grins and gives her a small salute, "Dismissed, Agent. But you'll have to leave through the front door. The bookshelf isn't round trip."

She returns the salute, if only in jest, and gives him the only even slightly military phrase she knows.

"Aye aye, sir."

###

Later, as she's doing some filing, 99 asks Agent 66 if she knows an Agent Q. The older woman looks a bit puzzled, but finally she replies, "Not personally. But everyone's heard of him. He's the Chief of CONTROL, you know."


	2. 1964 - When I'm 86

When the Chief said she'd learn about 86 "soon enough," he was absolutely right. It seemed everyone had something to say about him, and it was a bit hard to know who to believe.

"He's an idiot!"

"He's the best thing that ever happened to CONTROL!"

"He's lucky, but how long can he keep it up?"

"_Lucky_? Oh, spare me. Anyone with a brain like that would have the be the least lucky person on the planet…"

But she was already starting her second year at CONTROL before she met him.

And she'd have something to say about him too.

###

It was 66 who informed her of the mission.

Her first.

"It might be a little risky. Not to worry though—you're being partnered with a very experienced agent. You'll meet each other on the bench outside of the Wallace Dodo apartment complex at promptly twenty-three hundred hours. Use Counter Sign 269—you start off—and you'll get the details from them. Remember, _exactly _at twenty-three hundred hours; one minute later and the whole mission could be thrown off."

###

And she was there at exactly twenty-three hundred hours. In fact, she was there at five _before_ twenty-three hundred hours.

It was the "experienced" agent who wasn't there.

A loud but very lonely cuckoo signified the hour from somewhere inside the building, and her own watch's ticking seemed impatient.

Quarter past. Half past. The watch's hands slowly moved through the motions.

As for her hands, they were longing to strangle this idiot agent who was half an hour late and counting.

At quarter 'til she heard the clatter of footsteps. Looking up, she saw a slim gentleman in a suit headed for the bench. She looked at him scornfully as he sat down between her and the built-in rainwater collection tank on the other side.

"Herbert Hoover held a hated hamster."

"Calvin Coolidge crunched a crafty catfish."

"You're late." She hissed.

"What? I wasn't told we were using a double counter sign. Wait…" he pulled out his gun, "how do I know you're really the agent I'm supposed to meet?"

"Of…of…of course I'm the agent! I knew the counter sign, didn't I?"

"The first part. But you slipped up, presuming, as KAOS agents so often do, that we would be using a _double_ counter sign when, in fact, we are only using a _single_ one. Besides, I do not know any CONTROL agent who _stutters_ the way you just did!"

"Won't you at least let me try to prove my…?"

"What's CONTROL's cyanide pill flavor this month?"

"Uh…uh…pineapple."

"What is Agent K-13's common name?"

"Duh…Fang."

"What's CONTROL counter sign Number One?"

"Oh…um…Harried horses gallop globally. Fang-like fingernails pose potential peril. Nervous newts are artesian amphibians. Dead delicatessens rot like radishes."

"What is the Chief of CONTROL's number as an agent?"

"Q?"

"Very good. Welcome to your first mission, 99. I'm 86, also known as Maxwell Smart. And since it is exactly…"

"Ten 'til twenty-four hundred hours." She muttered grimly through clenched teeth.

"What? Now don't be ridiculous, 99. It's exactly…" he looked at his watch. "Ten 'til twenty-four hundred hours. I see they taught you to tell time. Excellent."

"Which is more than I can say they did for you. Do you realize that you're almost an hour late?"

"Yes, well…let me give you the details of the mission. You see, we're trying to get a file from Apartment 557 about KAOS's new training program. The man in the apartment is away today, so we originally had an arrangement with the desk clerk, but because he saw you here alone, he now presumes you're a KAOS agent. We shall have to go about this using other means."

"Such as?"

He looked at her, annoyed. "Do you expect me to just give you the answers? Observe your surroundings. Do a little critical thinking."

She clenched her teeth, resisting the urge to pull out her gun and shoot him on sight.

_My first mission. He shows up late. He almost kills me. And now he wants to play guessing games? _

She sighed and glanced at the building, noting some of its features. Stone walls. She reached to touch one.

"This would make an excellent climbing surface." She remarked dryly.

"And…"

"The apartment's window is on this side of the building. The desk clerk hasn't seen you and thus doesn't presume you're a KAOS agent. Since I get the impression you aren't actually willing to do any dirty work yourself, why don't you distract him while I climb the wall to the window? Tell him you're the renter's brother and you need to get in. That way, it for some reason I can't get in through the window, you'll have a chance of entering through the front door."

He looked at her oddly, as if he was almost amazed she'd been able to formulate a plan without his wise counsel.

"Excellent, 99. For your first time, that is. Here," he pulled a ring out of his pocket and handed it to her. "you can keep up with my conversation. There's a speaker on my watch that transmits to this ring."

Her feminine eye quickly scanned the "gem" speaker on top. Rather impressive, actually. It held a great resemblance to a sapphire.

"Ready?" he snapped.

"Ready."

"Alright. Remember, if you fall down on the job, don't come running to me. Get it? _Fall down?_" He emitted an unpleasant sound she presumed was supposed to pass for a laugh. It died down as he saw her glare.

"Well," he chuckled nervously, "it's not _my_ fault you have no sense of humor." Then he left and entered the apartment building.

As soon as he was out of sight she breathed a sigh of relief. Now,_ now _maybe she could get some work done.

Going to her car, she pulled her climbing gear out of her trunk. She slipped the ring onto her right hand—all she could hear right now was static—and went about preparing her knotted rope for her ascent.

Once ready, she tossed her hook and grinned when she got it on the first try. _That_ had never happened in training.

She hoisted herself up, taking hold of one knot on her rope, then the next. She began to hear Max's voice over the ring, along with another, unfamiliar one that she presumed belonged to the desk clerk. 86 didn't sound to be having any luck, but it was early yet.

One knot after another she pulled herself up the rope, only stopping very shortly to take breaths. She'd never been the athletic type—but CONTROL training had transformed her.

Finally, upon reaching the top knot of her rope, she pulled herself up at bit to look at the window.

Her heart sank, and she suddenly saw why hooking her rope had been so easy.

There were iron bars across 557's window.

Her head dropped, and she accidentally hit it on the stone wall. It throbbed, pounding as though her heart were up there.

The building seemed to spin, and in a single moment of disorientation she lost control. She slid down her rope at a frightening speed, and had it not been for the rope's knots her hands would have been badly burned by the friction. As it was they felt almost as bad as her head. Catching her breath as her feet slammed the ground, she forced herself to jerk the cable down from where it had hooked on and hurriedly wrapped it in a sloppy loop. She thrust it into her car trunk.

_Well I messed that one up. Now if only I can figure out another way…_

Proceeding to the backseat, she pulled out the old baggy sweater she always wore when scraping ice off the car windows. Slipping it over her head, she glanced at the bag of old clothes she'd bought at a garage sale last week. Her hand reached for them, then stopped. She brought the ring up to her ear.

The conversation had barely changed. In fact, Max's predicament only seemed to have gotten worse.

Sighing, she pulled the bag out.

She had to do it.

###

She listened to her ring one more time before she went in. Max and the clerk didn't seem to have gotten anywhere.

"Now, look Mr. Fisher, there's no way I'm letting you into your brother's apartment when he's…"

She let her hand drop.

_Well, here goes nothing._

She dipped her fingers into the bucket of rainwater on the bench and dragged them across her face. She started for the door, then, as an afterthought, put her ring on her left hand.

She began walking slowly towards the door, her stomach bristling with embarrassment.

_All in a day's work, 99…_

She waddled into the lobby, making a point of breathing heavily. The world around her had started reeling again.

"Darling," she called in a winded voice, her left handing resting on the bump under her clothing as her right clamored for the counter, "the baby is…"

She groaned as she felt something slip and leaned over, hoping to keep it from falling and revealing her ruse.

Max took this as his cue.

"Love!" he exclaimed, pulling her hunched figure into a bridal-style hold. She looped an arm around his neck while she tried to keep the clothes from shifting with the other. She added a gasp for effect. His arms were actually quite a welcome haven from the spinning.

86 looked at the desk clerk head-on. "As you can see, my wife is in labor. I'm a doctor, so I can deliver the baby. But I can't while I'm driving and I know for a _fact_ that the nearest hospital is too far for comfort. Now unless you want her to give birth right here…"

"Maaax!" she screamed, clutching her "belly."

Now the desk clerk looked scared. He tossed a key at 86 and stood back.

"Apartment 557. But then, you _know_ that…"

"Yes, yes." He said impatiently, snatching up the key and rushing to the elevator while she feigned a bit of hyperventilation.

"Everything's going to be fine, dear. I'm here." He soothed as the doors opened. He gracefully slipped inside, punching the "5" button with his elbow. Luckily the elevator was otherwise unoccupied.

The ride up was very quiet, with only the whirring of the machinery keeping it from being total silence.

A bell dinged as they reached the fifth floor. Max carefully put his foot out, holding her just a little bit more tightly as he made his way into the hall, key clutched in his right hand. Seeing a sign that said "550-560," he headed in the direction the arrow pointed and in a few long strides was by Apartment 557. Fumbling with the key while trying to hold her at the same time, she discreetly slipped down to the ground. He looked her way, shocked, and swept her back up into his arms a moment after the lock clicked open.

"No, dear, don't try to stand on your own…" he said, a little too loudly for her comfort.

"86," she whispered, "what…no one can hear us."

"You never know that, 99." He countered, kicking the door open and carrying her inside. "I'll admit, you're smart, but you still have some things to learn about the spying game." He lay her down on a hideous mustard colored couch. "Now you just lie there and rest. I'll get my…um… _bag_ and we'll go through the…" He glanced up at the window and saw the iron bars. "No, we won't."

"Do you want me to try finding another way?"

"Certainly not. I'll not have you doing strenuous work while you're in labor."

"But 86…"

"No buts. And why do you keep calling me 86? My name is Max. Dear, are you feeling alright?" Glancing at his lips, she saw him mouth "thin walls" while pointing to the area above the sofa. She nodded and stayed put as he'd told her to. Despite her protests—which seemed almost obligatory—was actually quite a welcome relief from her dizziness.

She heard Smart utter an expletive as he slammed the filing cabinet drawer on his finger. But when she saw him waving a manila envelope, she smiled.

Pay dirt.

Coming over to the sofa, he offered her his hand.

"Can you make it, dear?"

Adding a hint of stutter to her voice, she replied, "I…I think so."

"Good girl." He whispered.

It was the kindest tone he'd used all night.

Checking out all the apartment windows, they discovered more iron bars. Max sighed and leaned against a bookcase.

"This being a KAOS home, surely there ought to be _some_…whoa!" His last word was nothing more than a squeal as the case swung around. 99 rolled her eyes.

Did it get _any _more cliché than that?

Pushing, she found herself turned around and thrust onto some kind of elevator. The descent downward was quick and pain free.

Stepping out, she discovered it was a direct exit to the street. 86 was nowhere in sight, and it had started to rain.

Sighing, she picked her way through the puddles that were rapidly starting to form. Hopefully her car was where she'd left it.

Luckily, it was. Passing a gentleman sitting on a bench attempting to light a cigarette, she made her way to it, trying to subtly pull up the material under her dress and sweater. Just as she was climbing into the driver's seat, the man called, "Hey, what's a lady as preggers as you doing out tonight?"

She could have smacked him.

###

The next day she was speaking to the head of the science department when a new agent with a singsong voice informed her the Chief of CONTROL wanted to see her. The department head gave her a "you're in for it look" but nonetheless released her.

Her heart pounding, she walked down the hall and cautiously knocked on the Chief's door.

"Come in." he called brusquely.

She opened the door and stepped inside, straightening her back and affixing her eyes straight ahead.

"You asked to see me, sir?"

He swiveled around in his chair. "Oh, yes, 99. I wanted to congratulate you personally. I hear that under extenuating circumstances last night you handled yourself like a professional."

She stiffened.

"Tell me," he had an amused look in his eyes, "what's _your_ problem with Max?"

She sighed heavily, criticism for him burning in her throat. But her response was careful.

"He did his part last night. His faults are not mine to remark upon."

"Indeed? Well, that should work very nicely then."

"Sir?"

"He left a very positive review of you. He feels that your ingenuity really saved the day.

In addition to the review, he requested you as his regular partner. If you already work well together..."

99 almost choked.

"With that son of a gun? Absolutely not! I refuse!"

The Chief sighed. "I'm afraid, agent, that you have no option."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, 99, but CONTROL Ordinance 344 clearly states that except in cases of abuse between partners, an agent who has been at CONTROL for less than five years cannot request a change of associates, nor can they turn down the offer of partnership with a willing older agent. That's the rule."

She face palmed. She could swear the dizziness was starting up again.

"May I have a resignation sheet, Chief?"

"No."

"Why on earth not?"

"An agent is required to have been working for CONTROL for at least three years before resignation becomes an option. Statistics show that, in the past, ninety-eight percent of those agents who resigned during their first two years defected to KAOS."

"Oh…" she sighed. "How many years do you have to serve CONTROL before you can kill yourself?"

He was on his feet in an instant, his hand wrapping itself tightly around her wrist.

"99, you wouldn't…"

"What? Oh, goodness gracious no. It was just a passing thought. Don't you know the _satisfaction _that would give 86? He'd probably think I was in love with him."

His grip loosened, but his voice still carried shock. "Satisfaction? _Satisfaction_? 99, Max doesn't have an ill wish for anyone, least of all you. He's even been known to sympathize with KAOS agents in his weaker moments. In any case, this only proves that you do indeed have grievances. Perhaps it would be best to air them now so you do not…_crack _on the job."

She sighed, gritting her teeth in order to keep her flow of insults in check. "I guess the main umbrella is that our styles clash hopelessly. But besides that, he's tardy, inefficient, arrogant, has a _terrible _sense of humor, and I think he might be permanently…uh…" she leaned in closer as she lowered her voice, "_brain damaged_. Not to mention that he almost _killed_ me before he even gave me the details of the mission…"

"I will admit, Max _was _careless in more than one regard, which is never good for a secret agent. His timing should not have been so off. I can't speak to his sense of humor, and several agents are convinced—and regularly bet—that he is brain dead. As for arrogance, I don't know. His report of you was quite positive."

"So you've said." She sighed and pressed two fingers against her temple. "There's no way out of this?"

"No, there isn't. But 99," he took her hand, "give Max a chance. You'll warm up to him. Everyone does."

If only she'd known how much she'd warm up to him, she never would have protested.


End file.
